Path to Ardor
by Sa Rart
Summary: A visit to a grieving friend - that was all it was ever meant to be. But death follows close on the heels of her arrival, and there is little she can do to stop the destruction of a thousand souls by a force beyond all comprehension. Post-423 AU.
1. Winter

**First Bleach fanfiction here – Chapter 423 inspired this story, as I didn't really like the way 424 and 425 were going. I missed Rukia and the Soul Society and… well, this turned up. **

** This is based on the English anime and manga, so I dropped the honorifics and left the names in order of first name, then surname. **

** I'd also suggest listening to **_**Soundscape to Ardor **_**while reading this. You can find it at .com/watch?v=Q2aM5btBLVU. It's a powerful piece, and conveys many of the emotions in this piece.**

Chapter One

~ Winter ~

She sat in the garden, legs crossed, motionless. If not for the slight rise and fall of her chest, she might've been dead. He sometimes wondered if she _was _dead, that her spirit had long since passed on to her next life. She had long since ceased to care about the world around her; she remained secluded in the Kuchiki family's gardens, mind lost. She no longer went to the Squad 13 meetings, no longer left the mansion. She didn't patrol, she didn't train, she didn't even speak – she did nothing but eat, sleep, and meditate in the gardens.

In ordinary circumstances, Captain Ukitake or Captain Kuchiki would have reprimanded her for her actions, but neither had the heart to do so. Not even Yamamoto himself, normally a stickler for duty and protocol, could not seem to bring himself to wake Kuchiki out from her daze. Perhaps, after all she had done during the war, they felt that they owed her, and that they were doing her a favor. He knew better.

Now, it seemed, he was the only one in the Soul Society capable of and willing to bring her out of her prolonged state of depression.

"Rukia." He stopped twenty feet behind her, keeping her private sanctuary untouched. If at all possible, he would do this nicely. He had no desire to hurt Rukia; she had already been hurt enough in the past year.

"Go away, Renji." She didn't move so much as an inch, not even turning to look at her friend. Her voice was flat and emotionless – but still, she had spoken to him. Renji tried again.

"There's a lot of people worried about you, Rukia. Captain Unohana… Captain Kyōraku… Captain Ukitake…Captain Kuchiki…" Renji scowled and stepped forward again, staring at the ground behind her, determined not to stop now that he had begun. "Half the Gotei 13 is concerned about your welfare. Does that bother you at all?" He glanced at the girl again, hoping for something, _anything,_ to show that Rukia Kuchiki was still there underneath the overflowing wells of despair and depression.

"Just go away." Rukia's voice couldn't even be called a whisper – it was too quiet for that. But it brought him hope – hope that she could still come back. After all, Rukia responded better to cruelty than she ever did to kindness.

"Wake _up_, Kuchiki!" Renji lashed out with a foot, striking the small Shinigami in the small of the back. He hadn't meant to put much force in it, but his kick sent her flying ten feet into the creek. "So you lost someone. So you and Ichigo will probably never see each other again. So? Is that all you've got? One little blip in your life – and you fall apart? Grow up! Life isn't perfect. People will die. People will move on. _Deal with it!_" One day, he thought grimly, she would forgive him. Not for years, probably. But for her own sake, he would bear all the agony she was about to inflict on him. He braced himself for the barrage of blows and insults that were sure to come.

Slowly, painfully, Rukia stepped from the creek and settled herself back atop the mossy rocks. "I know you're trying to help, Renji, but go away. You don't know me. You don't know what I'm feeling, you don't know the pain I feel. I gave him power, and, by doing so, I condemned him to die. I killed him by giving him my power – and he uses the same power I forced upon him to save me from death. He forgave me, and, at the risk of his own life, he saves me. And then he does it again, saving the entire of the Soul Society countless times. And now, he saves every last soul here, at the cost of his own strength – and we leave him. We abandon him, just when he finally needs _us_, for a change." Her body shook, and Renji realized she was crying. "How many times, now, has he saved us? We'd all be dead if not for him! So why the hell shouldn't we care?" She stood and spun to face him, eyes blazing with sudden hate. "You know what he's felt like, you can feel it just as well as I can! But you don't care, and you were one of the few who actually knew him! Don't deny it – if you cared, you wouldn't be here. You would be trying to find a way to send him help! You're a _lieutenant_!" She spat the word, making the title into a curse. "People actually _care _about what you think! But you don't really give a damn, do you, Renji?" She stepped back again, her heat replaced by an icy coldness that was a thousand times more painful than mere anger could ever be.

Renji, too, stepped back, shocked by the sudden outpour of emotion. For nearly two years, she had hardly said a word. She had kept her emotion bottled up inside her, hidden from the world under a veil of isolation. He had tried to help her let it out – but never had he really thought about what kind of effect it would have on him. Her words were like steel, and they cut him straight to the bone.

"He gave up his strength to preserve our entire way of life, and nobody even cares," Rukia whispered bitterly, tears she would not shed shining in her eyes. "All of the power he had fought and sweat and bled and _died _to keep – he gave it up to save us from Aizen. He gave it up for _you_, Renji, and for every last soul that will walk upon this earth again." The emotion abruptly left her again, leaving nothing but her scathing sarcasm. "But we have what we want from him now. He's outlived his usefulness. He's worthless and helpless and we don't need him any more." She sat down again, angrily wiping the tears from her eyes again. "Why should _we _care about the man who saved us?"

"Rukia…" the Shinigami whispered, heart torn. How could he have failed to notice? He wanted so badly to comfort her, to help her, to somehow heal her pain. But that wasn't him. He was the warrior, trained to shatter and kill the heart; he had never tried to figure out how to put one back together.

"Go away, Renji," Rukia whispered. "Leave me be." She closed her eyes, once again cutting herself off from the world.

He hesitated. Then, he bowed his head, turned, and walked away, leaving her alone in her garden once again. He did want to help Ichigo, too – but, unlike Rukia, Renji knew his limits. He knew when there was nothing that he could do. So he had moved on, because there was nothing else that he could do. With all his heart, he wished Rukia could do the same.

Rukia listened to his departure, hating him for his attitude and hating herself for feeling like that. She knew that, logically, he was right. Ichigo was lost to them, and she should move on. But she couldn't bring herself to do that. How could she, after all he had done for her?

She longed for her friend again, his scowl and his grin. He wasn't like Byakuya and Renji, who had an image of her that they needed her to fulfill. No matter how she acted, no matter what she did, he accepted her for what she was. He didn't try to change who she was, he just appreciated her for being _her._ She had never met anybody quite like Ichigo before. And then, just when everything was over, when there might've been time for them again, she had lost him again – this time, for eternity.

Who was Yamamoto, to decide what was best for her soul? What was Central 46, to decree separation from the world of the Living? Who were the captains, to make her decisions for her? Maybe it was time to stop obeying the rules. For two years, she had sat and thought, reflected, and done nothing. She was her own soul, and she had the right to make whatever she wanted of her life.

With a clear ringing, she drew her zanpakutō from it sheath. She studied its shining length, the blade she had carried for decades. It was a simple blade in its sealed form, light and short – but sturdy and strong, too. _Are you with me still, Sode no Shirayuki? Do you feel the same pain that I do? _She sat again, slowing her breathing, falling back into her meditative state. _Let me see you once again, Sode no Shirayuki, my faithful blade. Help me, one more time!_

Cold swirled around her, sending violent shudders through her body. Slowly, gradually, she opened her eyes to find herself within a world of swirling snow. She stood, looking across the flat landscape of white and cold. The sky was dark with clouds, but, through a gap in the clouds, a patch of sky poked through. The new moon, a blank void of darkness in a world of black, shrouded in the sepulchral clouds, dominated the snowy skies. Wind blew gently across the snow-laden landscape, filling the air with swirling fragments of ice. The white particles fell gently from the sky, coming to rest atop the serene world of winter.

Then the wind blew, and the world of calm was transformed into a world of swirling chaos. The snow that had lain so quietly on the frozen earth swirled in a vortex of fury, whirlwinds screaming across the snow. The wind struck out at the small Shinigami, icy cold driving into her like a needle. She hunched over in pain, sinking to her knees in the freezing cold.

"Sode no Shirayuki, are you here?" she called, voice muffled and overshadowed by the wind and snow. It was so cold… Rukia was used to the freezing weather, but this was beyond cold. This was beyond freezing, beyond what any mere soul could weather. She struggled to move forward, but the wind was too powerful. "Sode no Shirayuki!"

The snow and the ice from the skies were the only answer she got.

She fought to keep her feet, shivering in the icy wind and the frozen temperature. The wind was a living being, striking at her with freezing malice and icy hatred. She cried out as razor fragments of ice struck into her, dripping blood onto the snow that froze as it hit the ground. She fell to her knees

"This is your heart, Rukia." Even though the voice was her sword's, the form she took was nowhere to be found. The voice echoed all around her, coming from the snow and the ice and the clouds and the moon and the wind. "You have let your emotions destroy you, Rukia Kuchiki. Look at the moon, Rukia." The clouds parted again to reveal the empty space where the new moon hovered, as blank and cold as the world around her. "The moon is our strength. It has waned over the years, Rukia, until there is nothing left. Now, even together, we are powerless until you can conquer the wind."

Rukia strained, standing on unsteady feet. She thrust out her power, but the wind was too powerful. A single gust, and she fell, blood dripping onto the snow. "The snow keeps falling," she whispered, tears of helplessness pooling in her eyes. "I can't control it. The wind keeps blowing, and I can't stop it. I don't have the power."

"Try." Another swirl of wind gently touched Rukia before a gale struck at her again, whipping her hair and robes all around her. The snow and the ice spiraled around her, until she could see nothing but a screen of white. "If you let the wind control you, you are nothing. You will become just another flake of snow on this frozen plane. Helpless. Hopeless. Useless. You will become just one of millions, part of the mass that can do nothing but hope the wind does not blow. But it will, Rukia. The wind will always come for you."

As if it heard her words, the wind struck again, seeking Rukia's core. She braced herself, doing her best to hold steady against its might. It hissed in reply before it lifted her from the ground, tossing the small Shinigami backwards without effort or strain. She fell back, sinking deep within the icy cold of a snowdrift. The snow continued to fall, slowly burying her deep within the ice.

"Sode no Shirayuki!" Rukia called desperately into the blizzard. "Why are you doing this to me? Please – I can't get out! Help me!" She struggled in vain to push aside the weight of the snow and the chill of the wind.

"No." It was as though the blizzard itself spoke to her, the frigid voice of the world around her. "I cannot help you now, Rukia. You must do this yourself. You have your own power, power that you must learn to use without me."

"I can't!" She struggled desperately against the snow, but she wasn't strong enough to do more than. "I'm not strong enough! Please, Sode no Shirayuki!"

The snow swirled around her, stirred up by the power of the wind. It was from the wind itself that the voice came now. "It is not the strength of your physical form, Rukia Kuchiki. Your mind, your heart, and your strength of will have always been your true power. Use them to free yourself, if you can. If you cannot…" Her voice faltered momentarily. "If you cannot, then you are beyond my ability to save you from yourself."

Heart, mind, and will… It was true; she had once possessed such power. But without Ichigo to keep her strong, she had lost the formidable willpower she once had treasured. Instead of doing what she knew was right, she had let the current carry her along. She had let the wind blow her where it wished, and it had carried her far from the wellspring of her strength.

Could she still retain that determination? Would the power she had abandoned still be willing to bend to her will? The cold was all around her, stifling her, suppressing her, binding her to the frozen earth. _I am this world. I am the snow. I am the ice. And now, this wind must not control me. It is time for the storm to end._

"Hadō four. Byakurai." A blast of blue energy from her palm, and the snow around her melted, leaving the Shinigami shivering in a pit of freezing water. Mustering her concentration, she drew on the power of Shunpo, flash stepping out of the pit back into the world of the winter, soaked with ice water and shivering violently. The wind hissed around her, chilling her to the bone.

"There are many ways to fight the wind." Sode no Shirayuki's still echoed around her, coming from the snow all around her. "Some are so strong, they can stand up to the wind. The wind blows, and the wind cannot move them. Look, Rukia. Look to the east."

Rukia turned, and saw the mountain looming above her, miles of rock and ice. It was vast and powerful beyond imagination, older than time. The wind struck it with all its might, but, in the end, only the wind turned aside.

"No matter how the wind howls, the mountain will never bow to it," whispered the voice of Sode no Shirayuki. "Can you do the same, Rukia Kuchiki?" The wind breathed, and a gust struck the girl in the back. She staggered forward, trying to keep her feet, but the wind was not to be denied. Reaching out, she grabbed the base of the stone behind her, holding to the mountain to save herself from the power of the air. Even as her feet left the ground from the force of it, the mountain remained steady.

"This is what you have done for years, Rukia Kuchiki. The mountain has protected you, and you have protected the mountain. But now, that mountain is gone." Abruptly, the stone beneath her fingers turned to snow, and she was sent soaring across the icy plain, skidding painfully to a stop as the winds died down.

"You cannot be the mountain. You have not the power or the strength to do so. Now, your mountain has been lost in the blizzard, the mountain that you could shelter with in the darkest of storms. You have only yourself left now, Rukia Kuchiki. And without your mountain, the world around you ceased to matter. You became isolated and alone, cut off from everything and everyone who might've been able to help you. Look at you now. You are alone in a world of pain and suffering – one that your own actions have created. You will never be able to fight the wind as the mountain does."

Try as she might to reject Sode no Shirayuki's words, the girl knew them to be true. After Ichigo had lost his power as Shinigami, she herself had lost hope for her own future. She had let the wind blow both of them far apart, without any attempt to stand up for what she truly believed was right. She had consented to sit in the gardens and let time pass without any attempt to change the circumstances that bound her to the Society.

But how could she do any differently? The ones who had declared it necessary were the captains. Defying any one of them would only lead to her failure and punishment. She wasn't Ichigo, who was strong enough to defy fate and get away with it. The winds of fate had blown, and she was unable to defend against it.

Enough with the brooding and the meditation – it did nothing for her now. If she truly wanted to see her friend again, there was only one course of action that she could take. No longer could she rely on Ichigo to fight against fate; she needed to learn to battle it for herself now

"Sode no Shirayuki!" Rukia called into the whirling snowstorm. No sorrow, no weakness, no pain, was evident in her voice. It was buried, now, buried deep within her. Later, if she could defy fate, there would be time for it. Now, there was something far more important at stake.

"Sode no Shirayuki," Rukia repeated, gazing into the blizzard. "Teach me how to fight the wind."


	2. Strength of Will

**Long time, no see… hear… write… whatever. Originally, this was going to be a oneshot… but… well… I changed it. I will include plot elements, old characters, and everything else, starting from 423 as if the rest never happened. **

**Thanks to FalseFacts, PauLinian4eVer, ****Aizawa Ayumu Oz Vessalius, MyPenIsSharperThanYourSword, and MikoSwordsman01 for the reviews that have helped SO much. And thanks to all readers who have been willing to stick with me.** **And, finally, a special thanks to Bookaholic711 and her Project PULL for helping me to write this piece.**

**Happy reading!**

Chapter Two

~ Strength of Will ~

It was a beautiful night – even for someone like him, for which beauty meant nothing. The moon shone brightly above and the stars twinkled gently beside it, pinpricks of light in a darkened world. The air was fresh and clean, cool without being cold, and the silent trees swayed gently in a faraway breeze. All was quiet and calm, without so much as a distant shout or clatter of metal from a distant barrack. Ikkaku scowled into his sake and took another large sip, swishing the sour liquid around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He was bored out of his mind.

What the hell had happened to get him here, anyways? As far as the Eleventh Squad was concerned, sentry duty was punishment and cannon fodder work. Nobody ranked above the twentieth seat got it unless they screwed up something simple and menial, and even then, it had to be noisy enough for somebody important to actually notice before you got sent to the Senkaimon gate for the night. He scratched his hairless head, frowning for a moment as he tried to think back to the past week, but thinking had never been his strong suit, anyway – especially when it came to remembering his mistakes. He had more important things to think about - namely, the bottle of sake. He took another swig, glancing back at his snoozing counterpart, wondering when the man would wake up. The later the better – although the snoozing man _looked_ jovial and kind, Ikkaku knew he wouldn't be anywhere close to that if he discovered that Ikkaku had stolen his sake. "Damn Kidō Corp and its damn kidō," grumbled the Third Swat, taking another swig of the potent brew.

A whisper of wind, and he whirled, sake forgotten as his sword cleared his sheath. A footstep? A whisper? He couldn't tell… Perhaps it had been nothing. A cricket, a frog, a bird, a bat – it could have been anything. But he was a member of the combat squad, and his instincts were as honed as his blade. And his instincts told him that something was not right on this evening. There was something there that was not meant to be, and he was going to find out.

With a final swig of the sake, he tossed the bottle aside, scowling as he wiped the back of his hand across his dripping mouth.

A flash of moonlight on metal, and he whirled – a blur of motion – a screech of clashing swords – a yell – and Ikkaku struck back, knocking the cloaked figure back a pace, panting heavily. His opponent brought up the zanpakutō again, and Ikkaku grinned, settling in a ready position, ready for a little action to brighten up the night.

"Madarame?"

Bright blue eyes widened in shock as they met his own, bright blue eyes staring out of a young face, set with determination. "Third Seat Madarame? What are you doing here?"  
He raised an invisible eyebrow, frowning again as he recognized the intruder. "Simple – guard duty. Here's a better question – what the hell are you doing creeping around attacking me at night, Rukia Kuchiki?"

The girl lowered her sword slightly, but the hard look did not leave her face as she surveyed him. "A Third Seat, assigned to gate duty? I thought only unranked members did that."

The man sneered, but his eyes never left her blade. "You would know all about it then, wouldn't you, Kuchiki? Or maybe not – as the Sixth Captain's sister, I doubt you get real work, huh?"

She brushed the insults aside, transfixing him with her gaze. "I don't want to fight you, Madarame. I've fought with you in the past, and I have no desire to cause you injury. Just hand over the key, and I'll be on my way."

He laughed incredulously, shifting his grip on his sword. "_You?_ Injure _me_? You realize you're an unranked squad member, and I'm one of the Soul Society's elite, right? I won't hand over the key, and you know it. But if it's a fight you're after…" His mouth twisted in a sickening grin. "Now _that_ I would be willing to give you, Kuchiki?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Bakudō Nine, Hōrin!" She raised a hand to point at him, and he barely had time to step aside as the glowing yellow rope twisted towards him, snaring a tree and yanking it backwards. He jumped again, and the massive oak slammed into the ground, pulled out by its roots. He glanced at it, slightly unnerved, and back at the dark figure standing by the gate.

"That was a level nine kidō?" He glanced at the fallen giant and scratched his head, slightly puzzled. "Isn't nine like, the ninth weakest? And wasn't that supposed to be a binding spell, not a destruction spell? I'm not that good with kidō, but… it wasn't supposed to do that, was it?"  
Her eyes were dangerous. "Hōrin is a flexible spell. It does as I bid, and it so happens I used it to take hold and pull to me what it caught." She drew her hand into a fist, and the orange ribbon slipped back into her palm. "I'll warn you one last time, Madarame – I mean business. Give me the Senkaimon gate key, and I won't do anything to you. I swear it, by the honor of the Kuchiki family."  
His own eyes narrowed in return. "Don't the noble houses have their own Senkaimon gates?" She looked surprised, and an eerie smile curled across his face. "Those are monitored by the family, of course. Didn't want the captain to know that you're visiting the Living world, huh?" Her look of shock was answer enough for the warrior. "I'm not stupid, you know. But make no mistake about it, Kuchiki – the captains will hear about this as soon as we're done. I have my orders.  
She looked at him, and there was a deep satisfaction in those sad eyes. "After I'm done with you, Ikkaku Madarame, you won't remember a thing." She raised her hand to show him the small green bottle, and he could not stop a slight hiss of shock from escaping his mouth.

"Memory modification? Where'd you get that, Kuchiki? Locked up in some safe in the mansion, maybe?" His was disgusted, and made no attempt to hide it. "You nobility – thinking you're better than the rest of us. Let's see what you can do in a _real _fight, Kuchiki!"

Ikkaku lunged, laughing, sword and sheath brought up in each hand. He attacked without hesitation, crushing, scything blows raining down at her from all directions. But her own blade was dancing, twirling in an elaborate, intricate pattern, catching his brutal swings and stopping them dead. Ikkaku scowled in fury as blow after blow failed to connect. He was the stronger – he knew that for sure. But she kept moving right, left, up, down – so quick and agile, he found himself quite unable to keep up.

Then, she struck back.

It was a simple blow, a backhanded swipe while she fell down from above, striking with the strength of her body and its miniscule weight as she crashed down. He caught the blow on his sheath, contemptuously, and flicked his own blade back in a quick retaliation. It was only after she spun and hit the ground did he notice the sheath in his hand. Or, more accurately, the splintered half of the sheath he held in his hand.

The blood dripped down, and, wonderingly, the man put his hand to his scalp to feel the warm liquid trickled out. He raised disbelieving eyes to look at the girl standing in front of him, sword dark with his blood.

"Well." Ikkaku's scowling face split in a grin, and he flipped the other half of the sheath back into his grip, jamming it together with the sword and the wood. "You're better than I remember. Let's test that, shall we?" The wood began to glow and warp, shining with pale red light. "Extend, Hōzukimaru!" He laughed as power shot through him, the staff of his shikai twirling in his hands. "Take THIS!"

She brought up her sword, bracing it with her left hand as the staff slammed down on her blade, sending her to her knees, arms shaking as she fought to hold off the weapon, and Ikkaku laughed.

He flicked his wrist, and it spun, blades separating on its two short chains, a whirlwind of metal and wood as it bit down into her shoulder. She cried out, and he laughed, reveling in her pain, pushing all the harder, watching in delight as red blood coursed around the blades. Her eyes narrowed, and she whispered, words that fluttered like the wings of a butterfly through the still air.

"Dance. Sode no Shirayuki."

His grin froze, and she smiled grimly, as, with a twist of her body, she tosses the big man back a few steps. A flash – and she was behind him, glowing white sword pirouetting through the air, cutting with savage beauty. He turned to block, and she was behind him again, flashing with amazing speed, sword dancing, cutting through the air itself as she lashed out at him.

"Not bad, Kuchiki." Ikkaku spoke confidently, but as their weapons clashed, he did his best to contain the quiver of fear running through him. He was the Third Seat of the Zaraki squad, one of the most powerful warriors in the Soul Society, well known for his ability to crush any opponent without remorse or hesitation. He had fought in Rukongai for a hundred years, and only Kenpachi Zaraki himself had been able to defeat him. His skill with his blades was renowned, and his prowess in combat was legendary. So how was it that he could hardly match one little spoiled noble girl in a one-on-one fight?

He disengaged, flash-stepping up and away, twenty feet above her, panting in exertion. She was pushing him, pushing him in his own game, and he was unnerved. Sure, she was supposed to be strong – but he had seen her fight in the living world, and it had been nothing like this.

"Hadō thirty-three – Sōkatsui!"

He barely had time to duck as the blast of blue energy shot overhead, sending him spinning helplessly towards the ground, coughing. He turned to look at the girl, shocked – and her eyes were hard, hard as stone, and blue energy crackled around her open palm. "Hadō four – Byakurai!" He jumped, pulling his legs to his chest, and the beam of energy singed his toes as it blasted underneath him. He tripped as he fell back down, staggering to keep his feet as she pointed again. "Hadō thirty-one – Shakkahō!" This time, he was too slow as it shot out, and the blast of red fire slammed into his chest, searing through tunic, skin, and bone. He screamed, dropping to the ground, panting and clutching at the blackened spot that was trickling blood.

A whisper of wind, and she watched the snarling man, face contorted in agony, and brought the glowing zanpakutō to bear, beautiful and deadly. "Tsugi no mai. Hakuren!"

She crushed the pity in her, refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to let her resolve slacken. The sword lowered, stabbing deep into the ground, white ribbon dancing through the frigid air. He was fast, and she gave him credit for that. Ikkaku managed to spring to his feet before the ice struck him, overwhelming him, catching him and surrounding him, holding him deep in the heart of the mass of ice.

"I _am_ sorry about this," Rukia told the frozen man, walking towards the massive chunk of shining ice. "But I need this, and I can't let you stop from getting it." Sode no Shirayuki stabbed through the ice, catching the key ring and lifting it gently from the man's belt. She smiled sadly. at Ikkaku, sheathing the zanpakutō and tucking the key into her kimono. "Thank you, Third Seat, and goodbye." Gently, she smeared the ice away from his mouth, bringing up the bottle of green spray.

"Ban-kai."

She barely had time to drop the spray and draw her sword again before the ice exploded outwards, sending the small Shinigami flying through the air, arm protecting her face from the razor fragments of ice that shot past her. Desperate, she braced a foot against the air, drawing on her reiatsu and Shunpo to step upwards, away from the flying razors.

Then, with a hiss and a roar like no other, something huge hurtled from the darkness and struck out with incredible speed. She managed to twitch aside, and strands of hair were sent spinning to the ground instead of her head. She barely had time to turn before it slammed into her again, pressing her downwards with vast strength.

Ikkaku laughed, a manical, insane cackle of delight as he smashed her out of the sky. His torso was bare, streaked with burns and blood from her attacks, but hard and strong. On his back rested an immense axe blade, a full five feet long, a fiery dragon half-lit with orange light curling up its side. In each hand he held an immense blade – too huge to be called a mere sword – and in his eyes burned the fire and the fury and the delight of battle, the light of insanity.

With another yell of exhilaration, he swung, and there was the force of a mountain behind his blade. She brought her own zanpakutō up, and she was struck down, plummeting to the ground, helpless to stop herself from plowing three feet into broken ice and dirt, bruised and winded.

"That's… impossible…" she coughed out, eyes watering with pain. Bankai was the ultimate mastery of the zanpakutō, the final stage of a Shinigami's power. Of all the Shinigami in the Soul Society, only eight captains and a single lieutenant had achieved it. It was inconceivable that the third seat of the Zaraki squad, famed for his single-minded pursuit of battle, could have mastered such a technique.

"Surprised? Don't be." Ikkaku laughed as he spun the blades around, a swirling storm of pure destruction. "You've known my reitsu, haven't you? Abari didn't tell you?" Confusion registered on her face, and he laughed again, catching his twin blades in his hands effortlessly. "You can't tell, of course – then I'd get promoted, and never have fun again. You couldn't tell if you were dead, of course." He grinned, the savage smile of a hunting wolf. "But try to avoid that, won't you? It'd mean a lot more paperwork, and I hate that stuff. No fun at all!"

With that, he leapt, plummeting towards her with blades raised high. She rolled into a crouch, bringing her blade up in a block, a desperate, flailing blow. With a screech of metal, it struck, and Sode no Shirayuki trembled and screamed in agony in Rukia's mind – but she held. Rukia stood, whipping back, disengaging and stabbing again, with all her strength and speed – but a mere flick of his wrist, and her sword was knocked uselessly aside, stabbing deep into the ground instead of his chest. A blur of motion – she dove, tucking into a roll as the immense blade hissed past her. She stepped backwards again, bringing up her blade in a defensive position, panting.

"You're quick." He walked towards her, face split by his eerie smile. "But it's too late. A bankai is far too strong for you to defeat with a shikai and a handful of hadō."

The ice cracked as he walked across razor fragments in his bare feet, and the smile did not falter.

No. She refused. She had come too far already, she would not let him defeat her, she _could _not let him defeat her. She raised a hand to point at him, a hand that glowed blight blue with power.

"Ye lord! Mask of flesh and bone, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Truth and temperance, sink your claws into the wall of sinless dreams! Hadō, thirty-three – Soketsui!" From her fingers burst the blue flames, crashing down relentlessly upon the man, fire that burned the ice from the air as it clawed forth. A hiss, a screech of iron chains – and the blast rebounded, burying itself in the ground, dying uselessly, sputtering under the power he held. The eyes never left her face, and the smile did not falter.

"Sode no Shirayuki. Some no mai, Tsukishiro!" The blade leapt into the air, and the white moon bloomed under his feet, overflowing with ice and power, freezing his bare feet to the floor. He didn't even glance down as the axe blade smashed, shattering uselessly. Rukia lifted her blade, spinning it in a defensive pattern as he advanced.

An unearthly roar echoed around the clearing, and the blades descended.

She threw her blade above her head, lashing out with all of her strength and weight as the blade descended. There was a moment, a brief moment, when Sode no Shirayuki held, held against the swords.

But the blades could never be stopped.

He yelled, and the dragon on the axe glowed with red light, raging like a fire, and the blades _cut – _cut through metal and ice, into each shoulder, and blood sprayed across the clearing. For a moment, his grinning face was inches from her pained one, and then he lashed out with a foot. She flew, helpless, tossed like a rag doll, and she felt her ribs break. Thirty feet later, she rammed into the tree, and she heard the bones snap in her hand as she struck.

He hefted the immense blades atop his shoulder, the maniacal grin ever-present. "Don't feel _too _bad, Kuchiki," Ikkaku told the feebly stirring girl. "You should be honored. You fought as well as many men – better, even." Sighing, he turned and began to walk away. "It was a pleasure."

"Fought?" Her voice was hardly audible as she staggered to her feet, leaning against the tree for support. One hand hung uselessly, and her shoulders and torso were stained with darkening blood – but the other hand still gripped the broken sword. "I… am nowhere… _nowhere_… near done… yet… Ikkaku Madarame. San no mai, Shirafune!" Her eyes blazed even as her sword glowed, and the ice from the ground flowed around her, condensing back into the white steel of her sword. She pointed it at the Third Seat, staggering forward, leaving the support of the tree behind to stand on her own two feet.

"Shikai can't beat bankai," she murmured – hoarse, but, somehow, there was an energy in it still, a power that did not falter even as her blood saturated the ice below her feet. "That's what you said, right? Then I guess… it's time." The meager reiatsu left inside her began to swirl, spinning, a vortex of pure willpower and determination, and her eyes seemed to glow with power. "I hadn't wanted to use this in the Society – but it's not like I have a choice at this point."

Elegantly, she stepped forward, standing tall, and the man felt a sudden tingle of fear run down his spine as the wind suddenly picked up, swirling around them, stirring the deepest snows from their slumber.

"Bankai," she whispered, and the wind, too, whispered, and Ikkaku stepped back as cold washed over him like a solid creature. A howling filled his ears as the snow whirled around him, a veil of reiatsu and power that shielded the world from his eyes. Only the wind remained, and the whisper of her words.

"Dance through the frozen gales of the north, Sode no Shirayuki Kageyoshi."


	3. A thousand days of Snow

Finally, an update… if anyone managed to wait three months for it. Would sorry cover it? I hope so…

Again, thanks to all readers – and especially to Aizawa Li Syaoran Vessalius , LotusFlower640, KuroiTori-sama, MyPenIsSharperThanYourSword, burlington, and Valkaray for their reviews.

Chapter 3

~ A Thousand Days of Snow ~

The wind ceased, suddenly, and it left behind a vacuum in the cool night air, a silence that could not be filled with his muffled curses and struggles. He shook off the blanketing snow in annoyance, opening his eyes to behold the sight above him.

Snowflakes. They fell gently from the skies above, glistening white, tiny delicate white patterns shining for a brief moment in the light of the moon before they fell to the ground, lost among countless flakes of ice and snow. Tiny, intricate flakes – so beautiful and so insignificant – but flakes that filled the world. Unremarkable, in passing, but completely unique and different from one another, indistinguishable as they seemed, filling their silent villages of rock and trees. He tore his gaze from them – annoyed at his own philosophical thoughts – to behold the distant skies with puzzlement. They had been so clear, before the snow had begun – but now, they were filled with streaks of dark clouds, angry and vengeful, utterly foreign.

Then, from far away, the hiss of a distant wind filled the emptiness, and the silence that had gripped the world gave way to its sepulchral tones. It hissed, growing louder and louder – and the little flakes became bigger and bigger, filling the world with furious whirling whiteness – but he spun the axe, and the flakes were knocked aside. And, as suddenly as it had come, the snowflakes faded away again, disappearing into the night without a trace, and Ikkaku was left alone and friendless in a world he no longer knew.

He shifted, uneasy, bare feet suddenly cold in the blanketing snow. The clatter of chains as he moved – such a threatening noise, he knew – sounded lost and forlorn in the empty world. A gentle crunch on snow, and he turned, axe and sword raised for battle, trademark snarl curling across his face.

She stood there, tall and majestic with her white sword and dark raven hair. Blue eyes shone from behind the whirling snow, and the white hand that held the white sword was strong and determined and steady – and he silently willed his own hands to stop shaking. She still wore the simple black kimono of the Shinigami – but slung across it was a haori, like that of a captain, but without squad markings or insignia. It was as empty and as blank as the snow that whirled all around him.

"You really should have worn more clothes, Third Seat Madarame. What possessed you, to go shirtless and shoeless in the snow?" There was amusement in her voice and in her eyes, a liveliness he had forgotten over the past years that she had ever possessed. The voice held all the humor and amusement of confidence – the confidence that victory was near. It was normally his voice that had that humor, and Ikkaku found that hearing it in others was only annoying. He scowled bitterly, and raised the blades – but an easy step, and she was twenty feet away, having effortlessly made use of Shunpo to avoid his attack.

He was uneasy, very much so. It wasn't the bankai, or the clothes, or the confidence – he had seen all of that before, and knew how little such things meant before hard determination and a blade. But before her release, he had sensed nothing in the world around him. Not that such a thing was unusual – he had never really bought into the whole reiatsu-detecting crap. As far as he was concerned, ears and eyes did a better job sensing than a mind ever could. But without even trying, he could feel the touch of her spirit all around him, in the sky, in the clouds, in the whirling snow and the dancing breezes, even in the frozen earth beneath his frigid feet, the touch of cold strength.

But he was a warrior, and fear held no grip on him. Though uneasiness could close an icy fist around his heart, it could do nothing to stop his will or determination. He mustered his discipline – learned not from his years with Squad Eleven, but from Rukongai and from war – and he stood tall in the freezing snowdrifts that were rising around him. He raised his blades once more, and the clatter of iron chains filled his world once again. "I've fought in dirt and ice, in fire and in skies, Kuchiki – what's a bit of snow to _me_? I'm gonna beat you, and messing with the damn weather isn't gonna change a damn thing!"

The _guan dao_ blade arched into the frozen skies, striking with merciless strength and the power of unforgiving steel – and she leapt aside, completely at ease, as his zanpakuto devastated the ground she had tread upon, gouging into the fragile beauty of the snow banks – and somewhere, deep in his burdened hurt, he felt a twinge of guilt for it.

"Messing with the weather? Hardly, Madarame." He swung the axe blade – the Spade of the Monk, Yumichika had once called it – and she sidestepped easily, bright blue eyes never wavering. He swore quietly, panting, as they faced one another, fifteen feet above the ground. She simply stood, back straight, head high – was that pity in her eyes? "That's not really intentional. Our reiatsu grows when Sode no Shirayuki Kageyoshini is released – grows to the point that we can't hold it within ourselves any longer. And so we release it, and our power shapes the world around us. Honestly, I can't control it just yet." She laughed sheepishly , blue eyes tender as she reached out and brought a snowflake before her face to better inspect it. "It doesn't really do harm to me, though – it's just makes the world a little more beautiful than before." She tilted her hand, and the flake slid away to join its fellows again, in their mounds and drifts of gentle snow, before she turned back to him – and now, those blue eyes were hard and colder than the blizzard that was beginning to engulf them.

"But, at the same time, it isn't exactly harmless, is it, Ikkaku Madarame? You're shivering. Your hand and feet are turning blue, and you can't even stop your teeth from chattering. The wind and the cold sap you of all your strength, until you can't even see my movements. No warrior, no weapon, no entity, from Kenpachi Zaraki to Hanatoro Yamada to Ichigo Kurosaki, can stand against the wind when it blows – they are just cast away and forgotten."

There was bitterness in her voice, and, suddenly, he knew why. Through chattering teeth, he began to laugh.

"Is that it, Kuchiki? You're worried what Kurosaki is _feeling_ like, so you decide to pay him a little visit, huh?" He chuckled, even as he was staring holes in her. "You realize they'll be angry, even if you do manage by some miracle to make it past me. The Captain-Commander has forbidden travel to the Living World for months – ever since Aizen was defeated. I don't know a single soul that has been back there, except for maybe the Second Division Captain. There's probably a reason for that, you know." Even to himself, he sounded ridiculous – but nothing a little scorn wouldn't cover up. "You're stupid if you think your little playdate is more important than the orders of the Gotei Thirteen."

She drew herself up, eyes blazing with wrath – and, had his foot not been nearly frozen, he might've stepped backwards. "Mock me, and I make you pay for it. He's risked all consequences and borne every price to help us, and he's paying for it right now. I'm not going to forget that – even if you and everybody else in this entire world do!"

"Don't you dare insult my honor, Kuchiki," he hissed, hands clenching his blades a little more tightly. "I was given a duty to protect this gate, and no matter how much I hate it, no matter how much I really don't give a damn, and no matter how much I might want to help him, I have my orders, and I will defend them to the death!" He spat on the snowbound ground to convey his fervor. It might not always have been his creed – but he had seen what real duty had meant. He had watched the Captains, blood streaming from their bodies, battered and torn skin sliced apart to reveal the bone underneath – and still, they fought on. He had watched the Captain-Commander let all reservations and all compassionate impulses fade so he could defeat the childlike Arrancar, and he had watched as Yamamoto gave up his left arm for all eternity to take the smirk of the traitor Aizen's face. That was duty. That was dedication. There was no cost too great, no pain to discomforting, no desire too appealing, for which duty could be forsaken.

But he was a fighter, not a speaker, and he would never be able to articulate his thoughts, nor find the patience to do so. He could not convince with words what duty meant to him, so he would do so with actions. Even if it was as trivial as guarding a gate, he would prove to everyone that his dedication to duty was stronger than anything, now.

But still, despite his resolve to ignore her, he listened on.

"You're a fool if you believe that, Madarame, and if you won't leave of your own will, I will make you do it." But there was no bite or anger in her words; only pleading, despite the threats. "He needs us, more than you realize. Can you imagine what it must be like?" She bent and scooped up a flake of snow from the treetop, showing it to Ikkaku. "We raised him up, from where he was limited, and showed him a world without limit." She tossed it, and it floated among the winds, stronger and larger than those that surrounded it. With every breath of wind, it caught another flake, and grew larger and larger, spinning on the breezes, riding the wind. "But then, we let him fall, farther than he ever fell before, and left him there, buried in a snowdrift. Lost and alone. Suffocating, in an endless mass of nothingness and the blank void of uselessness, where all he can do is soften the footsteps of those who walk above." Together, for a brief moment, they watched the flake spiral to the ground, until they could no longer distinguish their snowflake from the others all around it.

"Stand aside. Let me go to him, Ikkaku. Let me help him."

For a long moment, the two Shinigami stared at the snowdrift, weapons hovering uncertainly, frozen in time. The wind gusted gently, and the snow danced across the frozen grounds. Finally, Ikkaku sighed, and the twin blades of his bankai rose once again.

"Sorry, Kuchiki. He might be hurting, but he's man enough to take a bit of pain. If I really thought it mattered, I might let you go – but thinking he needs help is an insult to him, and I can't let you defy the orders of the Gotei 13 for something like that." But slowly, his face lit up again, and frozen blood warmed in his body. "But if you want to try and force me, go right ahead. It was boring here until you showed up, and there's nothing like a good fight to get me warmed up." He pranced on bare toes, chains clattering, maniacal grin growing on his face.

Her own face was like ice – hard and cold. "Warmed up? Wrong, Madarame. Tonight, the cold sets in, and it will never leave you." And she drew her shining sword and held it high, breath foggy in the cold air, eyes hard as rock. Beautiful, shining blue rock – but rock nonetheless. "It's no insult to offer help when we're struggling. If you're too alone and consumed in your own pride to see that, it's useless to convince you any differently. Words can only do so much. If they fail me, I have only my own power that I can and will use to force you aside."

"Big words from a little girl," he sneered, and, crouching, he leapt for her, fire burning through his body, and the red axe filled with the heat of battle and the fire of passion and the strength of duty.

_There is nothing that I cannot cut. Not ice, not rock, not stone, not Hierro or bone. There is nothing that cannot be severed. There is nothing I cannot cut._

The spade struck out like an axe, immense weight falling like a sledgehammer, as though it was the hammer of the thunder god from the heavens – and the roar from his throat rivaled the sound and the fury of thunder. And the haori billowed in the wind as she half turned, eyes cold, and, with a single hand, she raised her sword.

_There is nothing that cannot be severed. There is nothing that cannot be cut._

And the moons shone upon her curved blade as it struck down, with all of the authority of the heavens themselves, and the white sleeves of the haori danced among the snowflakes, rippling in the wind.

_Nothing that cannot be severed, nothing that cannot be cut._

And the spade of the Monk arched up to meet her, shining with cruel red light, bloodthirsty, huge, unconquerable, with all the strength of the hell that was war.

_… _

With a ring of steel, the white zanpakuto met his own.

And held.

For a full second, his eyes fixed upon the white blade, half-expecting it to crack down the middle and break. Then, with a snarl of rage and fury, the spade was drawn back, and Ikkaku struck out with the _guan dao – _struck out with the power of a thousand iron muscles, the strength and power of a thousand men.

The girl spun, and her own blade arched down to meet his – shriek of metal – sparks flying – and the blade held once more, seamless white steel unmarked as Kuchiki stepped back again, eyes hard.

"That's twice I've stopped your blade, Ikkaku Madarame. The third time, I'll do more than just stop it." She stepped forward, gripping the sword with two hands, point quivering in anticipation. "Tsugi no mai. Hakuren!"

He hardly had time to raise his blade before the ice was all around him, steaming on his warm skin, hissing past him, around him, calling to him in seductive whispers of ice and cold and beauty and death, and he snarled with fury – but for all his strength and struggles, the ice bore him to the ground, and even his bankai could only just hold it back. Feet braced against snowdrifts, teeth bared, he swung – and the beam of ice was finally turned aside, freezing everything it touched as it unleashed its fury. He glanced up – but Kuchiki was no longer there. She was standing at his shoulder, and now she yelled in fury and exhilaration as Sode no Shirayuki Kageyoshini swept through the air. And he yelled, too, as twin blades crossed and rammed forward, cruel blades carving the air itself to pieces as it lunged, through windblown snowflakes and dripping blood. And the clash of steel echoed, and faded away, and they hovered, haori billowing, ragged remnants of kimono drifting in the wind, slender white sword pressed tight against jagged black blades. Blue eyes, darker than the night sky, met his own – and in her eyes there was no pity.

Ring of clear steel, and, from far away, he heard a grunt of shock. Abruptly, pain blossomed in his chest, and, slowly, as if in a dream, both of them glanced down. Slowly, the spade of the monk and the _guan dao_ separated in two pieces each, and they fell slowly from numb hands to the snowy grounds, far below – severed by the zanpakuto that was as thin and as beautiful and as dangerous as its master. Slowly, his eyes found the gaping red wound, blood slowly dripping from the tear across his torso.

Slowly, his body curved backwards and fell, eyes growing dim, limbs slack, as it plummeted into the snowdrift, twenty feet below him.

And, from twenty feet up, Rukia Kuchiki watched with sorry eyes, as the snowdrifts ran red, blood still dripping off the snow-white blade.


End file.
